


Cogitation and Phantasm

by JoJo7_7



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare
Genre: Ancient Rome, Cassius being sneaky, Genocide of the Tencteri and the Usipetes, Ides special, M/M, cassius is a sad gay mess, philippi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 04:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30050241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo7_7/pseuds/JoJo7_7
Summary: Presenting: Brutussius scenes! The first one is entails how I imagine Cassius using some of Caesar’s war crimes as reasons for assassination. The second is an encounter between Brutus and Cassius one night before the Ides in which their relationship changes. The third chapter contains a glimpse inside Cassius’ mind during his final moments. Nothing earth shaking here, but I hope you enjoy it. Also they talk in modern educated English.
Relationships: Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger/Gaius Cassius Longinus
Kudos: 2





	1. Hecatomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hecatomb  
> \- an ancient Greek and Roman sacrifice of 100 oxen or cattle  
> \- the sacrifice or slaughter of many victims

Cassius had been making preparations for the Parthian War at the time, but he had read Caesar’s boastfully polished memoirs and remembered well what Caesar had described regarding the campaigns. And he knew Brutus would not let such events go unnoticed either.

“Caesar never holds back. Whether he really is the god they say he is, he certainly acts the part!” Cassius lamented, eyes glancing around furtively. 

Brutus blinked slowly, acknowledging Cassius’ words. “Caesar is not one to hold back.” he said, after a pause. His face remained impassive. Cassius knew it was time to make one more argument, something that would break Brutus’ poker face, something that would get a rare raise of emotion from the stoic senator. 

“You must remember the campaigns against the Tencteri and the Usipetes.” Cassius said, head cocked and eyes curious.

Did Brutus flinch? Had his face wavered from the stony impasse?

“Of course, since they were barbarians, the means were supposedly-“ Cassius scowled. “-justified.”

Brutus did not speak, but Cassius knew that honor took precedence over stoicism in Brutus’ heart. And essentially, Brutus had fundamental qualms with the atrocities of war.

“Caesar had hundred of thousands slaughtered. Civilians. Women and children.” Cassius whispered, heart hammering as it always did with the topic of genocide. He knew if it was daunting for him to understand bloodshed of this magnitude, it would be punishing in the extreme for Brutus.

“Drowning. Sword wounds. Spearing.” Cassius spat, and Brutus finally began to recoil at the venom.

“But they were barbarians, just as Caesar is a god! By whose definition?” Cassius met Brutus’ heavy eyes, which mourned for people had never met or understood.

“Noble Brutus, the plebeians look to us to determine these boundaries. They look to the family that slew the Tarquin.” Cassius implored. Brutus ruled the people’s honorable hearts in a way no one else could. Had Cassius been in his place, all would be barbarians, in a world without gods.

“Yet Caesar is the one who test those limits. He went further than any other Roman did, he grows strong by feeding on the meat of his fellow citizens. His victory comes as he stands on the back of Pompey.

“Caesar has shown himself capable of remarkable brutality. He has proven he has no qualms fighting fellow Romans. Would you see this cataclysm brought in Rome?” Cassius asked, bringing his case back the city Brutus loved most. More than he would ever love Cassius.

“Cassius, I would never-“ Brutus started, but Cassius wanted to drive the point deeper than “never”. He wanted Brutus’ murky eyes to harden and focus, his muscles to flex. He wanted Brutus to fear. Fear more than he respected or admired Caesar. Fear more than he regarded the traditions of honor. Fear for Rome almost as much as he loved it.

“Would you allow Caesar to run the citizens of Rome into the Tiber? Would you let him spear the Senators, your comrades? Would you let him defile the innocent women and children with swords?” Cassius cried, breathing heavily. He had definitely gotten an emotional rise out of himself.

“I would rather die!” Brutus asserted. “I would rather die a dishonorable death, you know it to be true!” Maybe Brutus’ voice did not raise, nor his face change. But the quiet power in his speech took Cassius breath away.

“Can I trust in you?” Cassius asked plaintively. “Can believe that you do what ever is in your power to prevent this ruination?”

Softly, Brutus responded. “Yes Cassius. You always could and you always will.”

“Caesar.” Cassius whispered, almost afraid to say the Colossus’ name. “We will sooner sacrifice you then allow you to make a hecatomb of Rome.” 

“You know I set honor in one eye and death in the other.” From Brutus, whose murky eyes were marked now with the intensity of his values, that was as good as etched in stone.

And though Brutus’ undying love was for all of Rome, Cassius reveled that Brutus would do this for him. Even as one among others.


	2. Amore Noster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to this song while I wrote:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=wO7pw-KV9jA

Cassius weaved his fingers through a trellis, waiting for Brutus to arrive. The air was chilly, and his breath left clouds in the air. His cheeks were warm against the cold, almost painfully so. 

This was a love on borrowed time; normal affections were impossible. No past and no future left the present without substance.

That debate that kept them apart so long, about that Syrian province. If it had not been such a waste of precious time, Cassius would have laughed about it now. The decisions the two of them had made since then would influence so much more than a simple province. The fate of Republic hung in the balance.

A shift in the shadows down the pathway, could it be? Yes, it must be. He had that way of lumbering through the shadows, the stealthy warrior half ashamed of his prowess. “Brutus?” Cassius called, the coppery sound of his voice carrying in the night air. 

Brutus’ powerful figure stepped into view. The praetor said nothing, and though he was no longer in the shadows, his eyes remained so dark and hooded it was impossible to tell what he hid behind them.

“The Ides grow nearer.” Cassius finally said, breaking the silence. “It is almost time- we are all ready- everything has been planned-“

Brutus’ face was impassive, but his diction communicated his anxiety. “As if I could forget. I had to tell Portia, she could tell that something was wrong.”

Cassius tensed. “Can we trust her?” Fatalistic thoughts rushed through his head, and his heart began to thud. Brutus calmed his panic with a steady hand to the shoulder. 

“Yes. She is my wife. She would never betray our cause. We share that bond, and what’s more, she has proven herself worthy of our cause time and time again.”

Cassius’ stomach rolled, but he tried to keep his cool as Brutus did.

“Let us take a stroll along the Tiber. It clears the mind.” Cassius murmured.

As they walked, a heavy and nervous silence hovered over them. There was too much to be said, but Caesar seemed to be in everything, from the statues to the sweep of the pillars.

They came to the Tiber, and Cassius felt that pull it had over him. The thoughts resurfaced, of how he could leap into the waves and let the weight of reality pull him under. The waves of the conspiracy had already closed around his head, pulling him deep into the sea of villainy. 

“What ever we do, what ever happens, there will still be the Tiber.” Brutus murmured. “But Rome on its banks is fragile. Democracy is fleeting; even Athens was lost to Alexander.”

“If Rome falls, the passing of the seasons will eventually eliminate any remnant of her. The world will be no different from her existance...” Cassius fretted, mind returning to the dark places he knew so well.

Brutus knew them well too. “That is what we must stop. We are strengthening her so she may survive the ravages of time. We are putting the wind underneath her wings.”

Where in Brutus did his genius reside? Could Cassius isolate the part that made him feel such admiration? Where was the quintessential quality that added so much to the conspiracy? The stoic and broad face, bearing the pains of the world with seeming indifference, or was it that heart that cried at the darkness it felt? The dark lips that carefully delivered each speech, that resonant voice that played with Cassius’ emotions?

The pressure of the air had been steadily decreasing, and dark storm clouds intensified the night. Somewhere the bells chimed, and rain pattered.

Cassius did not want to leave or go home. This friendship, this bond built on shared guilt and terror and determination came from necessity. Rome’s ever changing needs that built the basis of this love could easily wipe it all away.

Cassius made a caustic sound in the back of his throat, not able to hold back any longer. But before he could act, Brutus took him into his arms. So much warmth and emotion? How could this be so real, this embrace that only came in his dreams?

Gripping Brutus tightly in return, Cassius nestled his head on to his shoulder. “Cassius...” Brutus breathed. “Is this what you wanted?”

Tears threatened to overwhelm Cassius’ eyes at the sound of his voice said in that resonant voice, ripples of sound. “Yes. But Caesar must...” Cassius huddled deeper, not finishing. He weaved his fingers through Brutus’ feathery hair. 

Brutus craned his neck, straining against the added weight of responsibility that Cassius’ love implicated.

Cassius stood on the tips of his toes, his ink stained hands seeking Brutus’ face, his mouth, pulling closer. And then... he felt an incredible lightness. He was soaring, high over everything, the night clouds no longer hemmed him in.

Brutus leaned in, emotion heavy in his chest, threading through logic of his being, rewriting his philosophy, if only just for this moment.

But as always, Caesar began to reappear. In the shadows of their clutched bodies, in the vague smoke smell of the air, in the North Star that watched them in their luxuriations.

“I love you- for Rome.” said Brutus, his shimmering eyes meeting Cassius’, which had lines of premature wrinkles in the corners. 

“And I love you too- for rebellion.”

And when they had lost the rebellion, when they had lost Rome, they would lose each other.


	3. Quod Pluma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to this song while I wrote this:
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lSzcx00R-qI&list=OLAK5uy_m19sGo4dIgdU6ljUiITbIkKG6vbegoNus&index=4

The sky extends over everything. The dome of the firmament covers Philippi as it did Rome. But this is a sky that Cassius could not fly. His feather of his love was weighed by the immense pressure of the days.

Caesar, the eagle of Rome, had once soared through the sky and none could stop him. But the immortal bird proved mortal and did fall. Everything fell, in its own time.

The last pieces of the hope Cassius had dared keep through this hideous dream were being carried along with Titinius and his white horse. 

And now Pindarus- Pindarus says that Titinius is taken, and it is as if Cassius can actually see. Not with the eyes, but with some other sense, the dark, glistening weight in his chest. Love? Grief? Or a sort of clock, ticking out his last minutes?

He can see, the dusty battlefield opening like a book to him. He felt an absolute certainty. Only of two other things has he ever felt so certain: that Caesar must die and that Brutus one of the ones to kill him.

So now Pindarus must stab Cassius, deep into his core to dig out that melancholy, that piece of him that was a sense of its own. Because of the carmine tent of heavy fabric, of the emotion that Brutus had borne there. Brutus could bear it, but not Cassius.

The flocks of birds that had conveyed those omens that had meant so much in the distant morning mourning, the air was too leaden for them to crest the mountains. No way to reverse Brutus’ decision, save for keeping Portia alive so that Caesar’s ghost could not touch Brutus. Cassius could not keep that ghost away.

Three impressions of pain, the gladius as it entered his intimacies, the squeeze and press as blood forced out of Cassius’ mouth and squirted, and the final confession, the realization that his fate had been sealed the moment he first purposed to kill Caesar, that Epicurus had failed him.

And then a cogitation, long after everything should have faded away: Brutus, who had been driven to the apex of possibility, his full actualization by Cassius’ inspiration. A stygian means to a grand purpose. And was that morality a higher one? But that was a question without an answer. Just as it was a love with no physicality, future without present, a feather without flight.


End file.
